Page 20 of Catching the Mistletoe

CHAPTER10

Mack

Isat at the dining table in the RV, tapping my fingers on the smooth surface. We were parked just a few minutes away from our first charity stop in Fresno, allowing the crew time to set up. The back storage was stuffed with toys, waiting to be delivered to kids who could really use a smile.

The door to the bedroom was closed. Arabella had been in there for a while, getting ready or whatever she was doing. It was hard to focus on the upcoming event when my mind kept replaying the tension at the beach last night. The way her eyes locked onto mine, the heat of her body against mine when she got scared—those memories were like a film reel I couldn’t shut off.

I mean, I sure had tried my best. Pushing her away from me, heading into the RV, barely looking at her while we went about our nighttime routines. I’d heard her moving around restlessly after she’d turned the night light off. It made me want to ask her if she was okay. Maybe apologize for what had happened on the beach. But then I thought better of it, figured it was probably better to just leave her be.

Then, when she’d woken this morning, she was quiet, barely talking to me. She also looked a little pale, and I’d had a panicked moment where I thought maybe she was getting sick again. But once the team arrived to take us through what would happen today, she’d perked up a little.

Now she’d been in the bedroom for such a long time, I was getting worried. Wondered if I should knock on the door to ask if she was okay. Or at least call out to her. What if she was in there feeling so sick she couldn’t face the day? Or crying? That thought almost made me push to my feet, determined to go check on her. Then I thought, what the fuck would I do if she were crying? It’s not like she’d turn to me for comfort, is it? Still…

I blew out a breath, brushing a hand through my hair. Man, I wished I could be less awkward around her. It’s like I’d forgotten how to talk to women. Not that I’ve ever been much of a talker, that is no secret, but this woman…. This woman tied me up in knots. Big, chunky ones I had no fucking idea how to undo.

It felt like hours, but it was probably just a few more minutes before the bedroom door finally opened. My eyes lifted, locking onto Arabella as she stepped out. Widened at the sight of her. Because,holy fuck,did I just develop a Mrs Clause kink?

She looked amazing, in a red velvet jacket and matching skirt, all trimmed with white faux fur. A wide black belt cinched at her waist, accentuating her curves. It was the knee-high black boots that really did me in, though, and I let my eyes trail over every inch of her before finally making my way back up to her face. Couldn’t have stopped myself, truth be told.

“What’s the matter? Do I have something on my nose?” Her voice broke through my daze.

I cleared my throat. There was a small frown between her brows, as though she thought there was a chance she looked anything less than amazing. “Uh, no.”

“Oh, what’s the problem, then?”

“No problem.” Shifting in my seat, I forced myself to meet her gaze more fully. “You just…you look cute,” I finally managed to say.

Her face lit up, her smile so bright it could’ve powered the RV. “Aaaw, thanks so much! I was actually worried I’d gone a bit overboard. It’s not too much, then?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Oh, good! Well, I’m ready when you are. Shit! I nearly forgot. One sec.” She dashed back into the bedroom and I took a moment to feel relieved that whatever had caused her moodiness this morning seemed to have gone. “You’re underdressed.”

I watched her with slightly narrowed eyes as she walked toward me, two Santa hats in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?”

“Come on. Don’t be grumpy. The kids’ll love it.” Without waiting for my reply, she stepped around the end of the table, right into my space, and plopped the Santa hat on my head. I indulged myself by breathing in her perfume, almost cracking a smile at the Christmas tree earrings dangling from her lobes. “Perfect.”

The smile she gave me had my heart squeezing, so I said, “How about we get this over with?”

“Alright, Mr. Grinch.”

A few minutes later, we rumbled down the road toward the community center. It was a simple, one-story building, painted in warm, earthy tones. A modest sign out front readFresno Community Center, and even from the RV, I could see colorful murals painted on the side walls. The parking lot was filling up, parents ushering in kids who all seemed to be wearing similar clothes.

Arabella peered out the window. “What are the kids wearing? Oh, that is so cute! Caravan of Christmas shirts!”

A few volunteers were directing traffic, wearing their own versions of holiday cheer—ugly sweaters, elf hats, and reindeer antlers.

A portly man in a white shirt and suspenders guided us to a parking place right out the front, and I carefully manoeuvred the RV into it.

“Now you have to honk the horn.”

I glanced at Arabella. “Do I?”

“Absolutely! Evelyn told me this morning to make sure we did it when we arrived, because apparently, it’s amazing.”

“Okay then.” I pressed the horn and gave a start of surprise when a rendition of “Jingle Bells” filled the air.

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